


equally carried away

by witching



Series: happiness itself [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Banter, Canon Asexual Character, Communication, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sex Positive Asexual Character, Tenderness, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: Martin had him up against a wall, right where he wanted to be, and had been kissing him breathless for several minutes with no sign of stopping any time soon. It had been a long day; they were only making up for lost time.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: happiness itself [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612573
Comments: 20
Kudos: 573





	equally carried away

“I’ve been thinking about you all day.” 

The words were little more than a heated whisper in Jon’s ear, a velvet-smooth sound that rocked him to his core. Martin had him up against a wall, right where he wanted to be, and had been kissing him breathless for several minutes with no sign of stopping any time soon. It had been a long day; they were only making up for lost time.

Jon huffed out a short laugh, cut off by a sharp gasp when Martin pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot under his jaw. “You always think about me all day,” he replied, his voice low and rough.

“Not true,” Martin said unconvincingly. “Sometimes I think about tea.”

“No thoughts about tea today?”

“None whatsoever.”

“That’s okay,” Jon said with a grin, “I didn’t think about tea, either.”

He might have continued his teasing, were it not for the fact that Martin dove in to kiss him again, hands firm and solid on his waist. Jon couldn’t stop himself from moaning hungrily into Martin’s mouth, their tongues sliding together, arms wrapped around his neck and holding onto him like a life raft. In a sudden moment of boldness, Martin hooked a hand under Jon's knee and pulled up; Jon responded enthusiastically by wrapping that leg around Martin's thick waist before using his hold on Martin's shoulders as leverage to do the same with his other leg, clinging to him, held up against the wall only by Martin's strength.

"Eager," Martin muttered, smiling against his lips, hands sliding up his legs and settling on the small of his back to hold him more securely.

Jon laughed softly, kissing down the line of Martin's jaw before whispering, "Take me to bed."

Not needing to be told twice, Martin moved away from the wall, putting all his energy into maintaining his balance as Jon continued to kiss and suck at his neck. He made it the five feet to the bed and lay Jon down, immediately resuming the work of kissing him absolutely silly.

Jon moved his hand from the back of Martin's head down to his chest, grabbing two tight fistfuls of his shirt and pulling for all he was worth. He accepted Martin's kisses, opened his mouth and let Martin's tongue inside, hummed pleasantly against his lips. 

After a minute, Jon shifted to insinuate a thigh between Martin's legs. He congratulated himself internally when Martin whined and ground down against him, noticeably hard already even through their trousers. It was an accomplishment he was proud of, even if he didn't quite understand it.

"D'you want to – get undressed?" he asked quietly, forehead leaning against Martin's.

Martin groaned something that sounded like  _ Oh God, _ and Jon frowned, opening his eyes to look at him with concern. "Too soon? What's wrong?"

Chuckling fondly, Martin pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. "Not too soon," he murmured, "just – bit overwhelming, is all."

"What is?"

"Having you here, asking me to get undressed, it's a lot."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Martin said, laughing again. "I love it. I love you. This is all too good to be true."

"It is true," Jon insisted, his fingers moving tentatively to pull at the hem of Martin's shirt. "Do you not want to –?"

Pushing himself up to kneel between Jon's legs, Martin smiled down at him, bright and warm as the sun. "Course I want to," he assured him softly. "And you want to?"

Jon nodded decisively. "I do."

He watched with rapt attention as Martin pulled his sweater over his head and threw it haphazardly on the floor, soon followed by his undershirt, revealing the broad expanse of his stomach and chest, swaths of smooth, dark skin and soft curves. Jon was suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed, himself. Maneuvering to a more upright position, he got to work on the buttons of his own shirt to even the playing field a bit. 

There was a brief moment where Jon considered feeling self conscious about his body, all scrawny and bony and scarred, but then he remembered that this was  _ Martin. _ He hadn’t run away when Jon had spent day and night deriding him in a concerted effort to distance himself, he hadn't run away when his life was endangered by his proximity to Jon, and he wouldn't run away now, Jon was sure of it. Still, he folded his arms over his chest as soon as he had discarded his shirt. 

Martin looked at him, adoration shining through his every feature, his every pore, and then he reached out to place a gentle hand on Jon's shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles over his collarbone. Jon melted a bit under the touch, releasing a breath he had been holding for who knew how long, and dropped his arms to reveal his bare chest, folding his hands awkwardly in his lap. He tried to close his eyes, shutting out the feeling of being watched – it was impossible not to laugh under his breath at the irony of it – but he soon found it was better to see Martin's face than to imagine it, especially as he wasn't always able to distinguish his anxious thoughts from his Beholding Knowledge.

Fortunately, Martin saved him from his thoughts before too long, cocking his head to the side and watching him with wide, kind eyes. "Can I ask you something, love?"

"Of course," Jon said fervently, thankful to have something to focus on.

Martin hesitated, chewing on his lip, looking thoroughly unsettled. "Did you –" he began, cut himself off, took a deep breath and continued, "Did you see me in the shower this morning? Like… did you  _ See _ me?"

It took Jon a moment to catch the meaning, and he frowned, furrowed his brow. "No," he assured Martin earnestly. "I just – I mean, I Knew you were in there, but I didn't actually See. Why?"

Shaking his head dismissively, blowing a breath out through his teeth, Martin steeled himself and answered before he could talk himself out of it. "I just thought it was an odd coincidence," he mumbled in a rush, "that you started talking about sex right after I got off in the shower."

"Oh," Jon replied lamely. "You did?"

"Yeah, I – I had a dream," Martin stammered, his cheeks growing hotter by the second. "Woke up and I was all – you know, sweaty and – turned on, so I just hopped in the shower to, to take care of it. I didn't really expect you to wake up, but then I came back and you started saying all those things and so I thought maybe you'd, you know, Seen me."

Jon nodded, making sense of Martin's train of thought. "I did not See you, I can promise you that." He waited to watch some of the tension leave Martin's shoulders before continuing, "I actually only brought it up because I saw you, really saw you, with my regular human eyes I mean. You… looked very nice."

Martin couldn't hide the small upturn of his lips, even as he looked down to avoid eye contact like the plague. "Oh," he muttered sheepishly, "okay then."

Furrowing his brow deeply, Jon frowned, his dark eyes growing darker as he leveled Martin with a look of pure sincerity. "You know I wouldn't do that, right?" he asked, fervent and insistent. "I wouldn't –  _ Watch _ you like that. I'm not Elias."

"Thank God for that," Martin said with a wry smile, belying his visceral relief at the reassurance. "I wouldn't sleep with Elias if you paid me."

"That's good to know," Jon muttered dryly.

On impulse, overwhelmed with fondness, Martin leaned in to kiss him, hands tracing the shape of his ribs and moving down his sides to skim along the line of his waistband, fingers dancing over sharp protruding hipbones. Humming pleasantly, Jon slipped his tongue into Martin's mouth, bringing his own hand up to wrap around the back of Martin's neck as he arched into the warm touch of Martin's hands. When he moved to grab Martin's wrist, guiding his hand decisively toward the button of his pants, Martin broke the kiss, putting just enough distance between their lips that he could speak.

"What do you want?" he murmured, his voice rough and hot. 

"Anything," Jon answered on a breath. "Anything you want."

Martin nodded, hands moving tentatively to unfasten Jon's well-worn jeans. Jon lifted his hips to allow for Martin's deft hands to pull his pants and somewhat ratty boxer shorts down past his ankles and discard them on the floor, continuing on to remove his own as well.

The unhurried, unselfconscious manner in which Martin undressed himself had the added benefit of easing some of Jon's acute awareness of his own body. For those few seconds, at least, Martin wasn't watching him, and when he finished, they were on equal footing: equally exposed, equally surveilled. The smile that Martin gave him was even more potent as a balm to Jon's anxiety, and he returned it easily.

It was good that it was Martin, Jon thought. It could never have been anyone but Martin. Sure, he'd tried things before, and he didn't think he'd be making a frequent habit of it after this, but Martin was the only person who could have made him feel so at ease when he was so out of his element. So when Martin leaned over him and murmured "Can I touch you?" as soft as rain, Jon nodded without hesitation. 

Martin moved his hand, careful but fearless, to ghost over the juncture of Jon's hip and thigh, his thumb brushing over the soft skin right above the thatch of dark hair between Jon's legs. "What do you call this?" he asked, plain and sincere.

"I don't – I don't know," Jon replied quietly, huffing out a small breath. "Whatever you call it, I guess. I usually don't talk about it – not as a rule, I mean, just because I don't often find myself in situations that call for it."

"Is there any, erm, terminology you don't like?" Martin's brow furrowed as he continued idly stroking the lowest part of Jon's stomach, a soothing motion for both of them. "I want you to be comfortable, is all. I don't want to do or say anything to hurt you. Do you want me to not talk?"

Jon scoffed, looking almost affronted by the idea. "Why on earth would I want you to not talk?"

"I mean, do you want me to avoid – er, dirty talk," Martin mumbled, a fierce blush burning in his cheeks. "My…  _ inclination _ is to tell you how you make me feel, because – well, because I'm allowed to do that now. But if you'd prefer not to hear it in this situation, I'd understand."

Jon bit his lip, shaking his head. "No, no," he said earnestly, "I do like… knowing that I've made you feel good. I want to hear whatever you have to say, always."

"Okay," Martin nodded, closing his eyes against the threat of tears at the revelation of hearing Jon say those words. He pulled himself together, took a breath, pressed on. "Can I… can I finger you? Because I'd – if you want me to fuck you, I'd like to make sure you're ready for me."

His eyes wide, Jon shook slightly, not nervous or afraid but awed in the face of Martin's care and adoration. "Yes, please," he said in a shaky whisper, "I'd like that very much, if it would make you happy."

Martin beamed at him, kneeling between his legs, and gently slid a hand up his thigh. He ran one finger along the outer line of the folds, tensing slightly when Jon shuddered in response. When he looked up at Jon's face, it was clear that he was affected but not distressed, his lips parted in surprise, his eyes trained unblinking on Martin's form. Emboldened, Martin slipped in deeper, rubbing the pad of his finger experimentally over Jon's clit, eliciting a gasp.

"Is that good?" he murmured, his eyes snapping up to Jon's face. When Jon nodded resolutely, he continued both his movement and his words. "Good," he said quietly as he moved to slip his finger inside the tight heat of him, using his other hand to nudge Jon's thighs gently further apart before settling on his hip. "I don't know if you know this," he continued, his voice soft and conversational, "but you have a beautiful cunt."

Jon's breath caught loudly in his throat, followed by a choked sort of groan, and Martin froze. "Was that not okay?" he asked, studying Jon's face with frantic concern. 

With what appeared to be great difficulty, Jon shook his head. "No, it was fine. It's good."

Martin frowned, furrowed his brow. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Jon assured him with a soothing hand on his arm. "I… I don't say it often, but I do like the way you say it."

His mouth hanging open in a picture of awe and arousal, Martin's face darkened even further as he blinked at Jon. "Yeah?"

Another nod from Jon, followed by a low grunt of affirmation, was enough to convince him, and Martin resumed his ministrations. When he slid two fingers steadily inside, Jon wriggled his hips and whined quietly, pressing down against Martin as he fucked in and out in a slow rhythm. 

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" Martin murmured, looking up to watch Jon's face contort in response to a crook of his fingers. "So beautiful. Do you know how long I've wanted you? Do you know how much you turn me on?"

Jon only exhaled shakily and shook his head, so Martin continued to elaborate. "Sometimes just hearing your voice is enough to get me hard," he whispered, a silken lilt to his words. "Or when you've had your hair up all day and you take it down and I can smell your shampoo from across the room. God, I used to dream about running my hands through your hair – pathetic, I know, I don’t care, it’s the truth.”

“Not – not pathetic,” Jon breathed, low and rough. “No, it’s just, it’s ill-advised, is all.”

Chuckling softly, Martin brought his free hand up to thread his fingers through Jon’s hair and brush it away from his face. “Touching you is never ill-advised,” he murmured. “I would kill to touch you, any day, I’m – I’m so lucky to get to touch you.” As he spoke, Martin thrust three fingers in deep, making Jon cry out and clench around him. “God, that? Magical, that is. I can’t believe how wonderful you are, trusting me like this, giving yourself to me like this.”

With a twist of his hand, Martin pulled another low whine from Jon, smiled down at him as Jon watched him with half-open eyes, pupils blown wide. “I would be happy just to look at you forever,” he said fervently, sliding his hand down from Jon’s hair to stroke his cheek with gentle, tender motions. “I would never need anything else, would never ask anything else of you, if I could have that. But this… this is so good, Jon,  _ so  _ good. You’re so good to me.”

_ “Martin.” _

The strained desperation in Jon’s voice made Martin’s eyes go wide. “Shit, what’s wrong?” he asked, frantic and worried. “Are you okay? Did I do something?”

Jon shook his head emphatically, his hand shooting out to grab Martin’s wrist, to keep him in place where he tried to pull away. “No no no,” he mumbled, more heated sincerity in his voice than Martin had ever heard before. “You’re doing everything so, so right. But it’s… it’s just – it’s not supposed to be about me.”

His expression softening considerably as those beginning threads of panic retreated from his chest, Martin breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, love,” he said with a painful intensity, a burning softness melting against Jon’s skin like wax, “everything’s about you.”

“I don’t – it’s not really – do you think… I’m –”

“Shh,” Martin gently cut off Jon’s token protests. “Are you saying you’d like me to stop?” he asked, leveling a look at Jon that conveyed how much he meant it, how quickly he would stop if Jon wanted him to, and then his words took on the barest hint of a teasing note as he continued, “Am I pampering you too much, fucking you open with my fingers, getting you nice and wet for me? Being too honest, giving you too much praise? Are you feeling spoiled?”

Jon squirmed, a pleasant sort of discomfort taking root in his stomach. “Yeah, a bit,” he muttered as his face heated up from a combination of Martin’s words and the look in his eyes. “I just – I want…”

Cocking his head expectantly as Jon trailed off, Martin paused for a long moment before pressing, “Yeah? What do you want, Jon?”

After taking a deep breath to steady himself, Jon spoke with a firm decisiveness. “I want you to fuck me,” he said plainly. “I want you to – I want to make you feel good. Please, I want it.”

Martin forgot how to breathe, so chose instead to dive in and kiss him, hot and messy and desperately loving, hand cradling Jon’s face as he licked into his mouth, tugged at his lip with gentle teeth. “Alright,” he said, a fervid promise, “I’ll give you just what you need.”

“You always do,” Jon replied easily. “I’m asking you to just –  _ take, _ for once.”

“Fuck,” Martin whispered. “You sure?”

“Yes, Martin, I’m positive,” Jon assured him fervidly. “Stop worrying about me, please, you’ve done well more than enough of that.”

Faltering slightly, Martin frowned for the briefest of seconds before leaning in to kiss him again, at the same time reaching across the bed to grab a condom from the nightstand. He sat back on his feet, watching Jon watching him, as he tore the packet open with his teeth and rolled it on with one hand.

They had discussed this, the logistics of it, surreptitiously on the way to work and periodically throughout the day by way of vague and hurried text messages. Jon had conveyed with an odd confidence that he didn’t think a condom would be necessary, but also that he didn’t particularly fancy the mess. It took a bit of teeth-pulling to get Jon to admit that he  _ Knew  _ it wasn’t necessary, which was a bit of a strange revelation, but Martin took it in stride before assuring him that he would use one anyway. 

Martin had been in a position similar to Jon’s many times before, and he rather enjoyed the messy part, but he fully understood and supported Jon’s feelings on the subject. It was no sacrifice at all; he would gladly have worn a full suit of armor if Jon asked him to, just for the privilege of seeing him like this.

It was a few moments later when Martin realized he was drifting away in his thoughts, staring at Jon like a piece of modern art – searching beyond so many layers of abstraction, as he always had, to see the pure and glowing value in him. He surfaced from those thoughts in a bit of a daze and was taken aback by the look on Jon’s face, an open, unguarded expression of selfless love.

Before Martin could say anything to embarrass himself, Jon moved, bent his knees slightly and spread his legs just that much further, an invitation, a request that Martin couldn’t have turned down even if he wanted to. He leaned over Jon’s body with great care, skin pressing in against warm skin, and kissed him once more. 

“You ready?” he murmured hotly, his breath ghosting against Jon’s lips. “You want it?” 

Jon hummed an affirmative before wrapping a hand around the back of Martin’s neck and pulling him down into a deep, hungry kiss. Martin braced one hand on the bed, used the other to line up the head of his cock with Jon’s entrance, and moved slowly and carefully, attempting to devote his focus to cataloguing Jon’s reactions. When the head of Martin’s cock entered him, Jon tensed his jaw and exhaled calmly through his nose. Martin pushed steadily inside, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against Jon’s, short breaths coming in hot puffs across Jon’s lips accompanied by soft grunts of pleasure.

“God,” he murmured, his voice low and choked with emotion, once he was fully sheathed inside the tight, wet heat of Jon. “Fuck.”

Jon said nothing, but shifted his hips, pressing down against him and tightening around him. Martin gasped at the sensation before quickly recovering and starting to move, having understood the message conveyed by Jon’s movements. He pulled out slowly, torturously so, his gaze locked on Jon’s face, watching for even the slightest sign of discomfort; when it didn’t appear, he thrust back in with a bit more force, and Jon bit his lip to stifle a moan.

"No, please," Martin said plaintively, "let me hear you. Please let me hear how I make you feel."

The effect was immediate; Jon's mouth fell open and he moaned openly, prompting a similar reaction from Martin as he was overcome with joy and disbelief at being the one to make Jon feel that good. The sounds continued as Martin began fucking into him in earnest, punching little gasps and grunts out of him with each thrust. 

"I love you so much," Martin breathed reverently. "You feel so good, your cunt is so fucking –  _ tight _ for me, so hot, so  _ perfect. _ You're perfect, love, you are."

"Martin," Jon whined, desperate and breathless. He was rather surprised, actually, by how affected he was; he knew how his nerves reacted to physical stimulation, he'd masturbated dozens of times, and he'd even engaged with other people before, but it had never been like this. He had never felt so _safe_ as he did now, secure with Martin's weight on him, Martin's skin on his, and he was overwhelmed by the emotional impact as well as the physical sensations, almost beyond words. As it was, what few words he _could_ muster were simply, "God, I love you."

"Will you come for me, Jon? Do you want to?"

"Yeah, yeah, please."

Martin insinuated a hand between them to play his thumb over Jon's clit without pausing or slowing his deep thrusts. It took only a few seconds for Jon to reach the peak of his crescendo, tumbling over the edge with a whimper. Martin stopped, watching Jon's face intently as he came down from his orgasm, until Jon looked up at him and furrowed his brow.

"Don't stop," he murmured roughly. "You haven't – keep going, please."

The words alone would have been argument enough, but the profound need in Jon's voice and the hot clench of his walls around Martin's cock made it impossible to resist the request. Martin started moving again, continued to whisper soft encouragement, his voice straining as he came closer to his own release.

"I'm so close,  _ fuck," _ he muttered after a short time, his hips stuttering slightly. He began to fuck into Jon's cunt with decisive purpose, four hard thrusts before he stilled and came, groaning long and low. 

There was a long moment of silence, as if they were suspended in space and time, just breath and heat and love wrapped up together, wrapped up in each other. Their bodies were only secondary, but then they always had been, really. 

As his breathing evened out, Martin pulled out gently, disposed of his condom in a convenient bedside bin, and grabbed a tissue to clean up what remained before collapsing on the bed with an arm slung protectively across Jon's chest. Jon curled up against him, turning his head to press a warm kiss to Martin's wrist. 

He lay for a while without speaking, letting the rhythm of Martin's breaths and his heartbeat lull him, fighting against the perpetual lump in his throat. It was only when he felt Martin's lips brush against his hair that he felt able to voice his thoughts. 

"I…" Jon trailed off, biting his lip and shaking his head slowly. He took a deep, steadying breath and turned to look at Martin's face, a soothing sight in any situation. "I love you," he said with a heated passion, and then his voice shrank into something almost timid as he asked, "Was that… good for you?"

Martin actually laughed at that, a tired, joyful huff of a noise, and kissed Jon's forehead before answering. "It was  _ amazing, _ Jon," he said, certain as a promise. "Better than I ever imagined, and more than I could ever ask for."

"Good," Jon whispered. "Good. You deserve that."

At that, Martin's arm tightened reflexively around him, pulling him close against his chest. He had been working on recognizing his own worth, and he valiantly won out against the instinct to say something about how much he didn't deserve Jon, but he didn't have anything else to say; he simply held Jon, hoping that the touch would convey how absolutely precious he was to Martin. 

"Are you hungry?" Jon asked softly after a while, tilting his head back to see Martin's face. "You haven't had dinner yet."

"Neither have you," Martin pointed out. "I could go grab something, if you want."

"You'd leave me here?"

"In the interest of Thai food? Possibly."

"That's fair, I suppose," Jon muttered, his good-natured humor belied by the dark pout of his lips. "Will you stay if I order delivery?"

Martin grinned and kissed him again. "I thought you'd never ask," he teased fondly. "Romance is alive and well."

Already pulling up the website on his phone, Jon smiled quietly to himself. Somehow, it felt important to keep Martin nearby in this moment, to keep touching him and holding him and looking at him for as long as possible, and Jon felt quite victorious as he used one hand to order dinner while the other drew abstract shapes idly on Martin's skin. 

A strange and unfamiliar feeling bubbled up inside him over the course of a few seconds, distinctly pleasant, and he struggled internally to name it. Try as he might, he could only go as far as to say it was a warm mixture of love and joy and safety and comfort and belonging and understanding and a thousand other feelings he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before. It was only after turning to look at Martin's face again, seeing his cheeks round and glowing, his mouth relaxed and content, his eyes wide and brimming with adoration, that it dawned on him: this was how it felt to not be afraid.


End file.
